


it's not what you did; it's the way you do it

by sungyeowl



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: AND OBVIOUSLY I SUCK AT SUMMARIES, M/M, One Shot, i don't know it just came to my mind, it gets kinda fluffy later haha, no i don't know i just love them together, obviously slightly au, with thomas becoming a full time runner and living with the gladers longer, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:32:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2076912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungyeowl/pseuds/sungyeowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But those minutes, or seconds, maybe, before the well-deserved sleep consumes him are one of the few nice things he can allow himself to have while being trapped in the Glade.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's not what you did; it's the way you do it

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from Tokio Hotel's Attention!  
> this is pretty much what i'd want to happen in TMR. obviously, i fell in love with The Maze runner and i honestly have NO IDEA why there's so little people to ship Thomas and Newt????? i mean cOME ON, HE CALLS HIM TOMMY FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.  
> i tried mixing in some glader's slang - not sure if managed without sounding awkward, tho.  
> it's my first time posting here, is there a way to mark it as complete or something?  
> oh, and i guess the story's spoiler free!

**it's not what you did; it's the way you do it**

 

 

The air is calm – it is usually, really – but the leaves are moving slightly, creating the ever-so-static hum in the background that's always there; yet another constant in his routine. Thomas shifts a little, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Sometimes he pretends that the weather changes, forces himself to believe that he can feel too hot or too cold (he can, technically – but when you're out cold, covered in cuts and bruises from a fight with a Griever, that's an entirely different matter); that there's a cool breeze that will bring rain later or that the season is about to change, that mornings will become frosty and plants dried and brownish. It's naive and pretty much stupid, and even though Thomas is well aware of that, he allows himself to think all that, but only right before he dozes off to sleep. He doesn't know, obviously, if his impression about weather is anything legitimate – he doesn't remember anything specific (no one does). But those minutes, or seconds, maybe, before the well-deserved sleep consumes him are one of the few nice things he can allow himself to have while being trapped in the Glade.  


This time, exhaustion is already there, too fast; it washes over Thomas' body, making his eyelids droop and his limbs numb. He tries to fight it off first thing, but then decides that shuck it, he needs sleep more than his childish fantasies of the normal world. He barely made it through the Doors today – the batteries in his wristwatch died (he didn't think they could, actually) and he stupidly got too caught up in studying one of the walls in Section four; Thomas realized it was time to go back too late, obviously, which resulted in probably the fastest shucking sprint in his career as a Runner. (Yet, he still had to squeeze through a gap between the walls so narrow that the stones tore the front of his shirt and his backpack). In that case, a few hours of peaceful rest seemed nice indeed.

Right when the warm fuzziness of slumber surrounds him completely and his mind drifts a tad bit too far into nothingness, there's a sharp, rapid pain in his shin and Thomas' eyes snap open. He sits up, awake and confused, and it takes him a dozen of seconds to localize Newt standing in front of him.

“There ya are,” Newt says before Thomas even has a chance to open his mouth. He's weirdly stiff and his hands are clenched into fists, digging – probably painfully – into the sides of his thighs. There's definitely something wrong, Thomas muses and notices he already stood up, blanket pooled at his ankles, fear of 'something wrong' settling in the pit of his stomach.

“What's up? What's wrong?” Thomas wills his voice to be steady and, miraculously, manages.

Newt's eyebrows spring up, hiding even more under his long blonde bangs and an ugly grimace twists his face over.

“Are you for real?” Newt spits out, obviously sneering. “' _What's wrong'_?”

The fear vanishes as Thomas frowns at the other guy. Okay, so there definitely  _is_ something wrong – maybe not the the-world-is-crumbling-down-run-for-your-life-you-idiotic-klunk but something else, otherwise Newt wouldn't come here raging, kicking innocent Runners in the shins.

“What's going on, Newt?” Thomas asks simply, too fed up with the whole day already; he just wants to go to sleep.

Newt shakes his head furiously, his long ponytail flying wildly around his shoulder blades. His arms twitch a bit – Thomas guesses the guy stops himself from throwing them up in the air.

“Ya were bloody late today, ya slinthead, _that's_ what's going on,” Newt growls, squeezing his eyes shut.

Thomas feels his frown deepen. He has no idea what his friend might be going on about; it's not like this hasn't happened before. “So I was, and?”

“I just-” Newt shakes his head yet again, opens his eyes and steps closer, grasping roughly at the collar of Thomas' new t-shirt. “Just- How could y be so fucking careless, Thomas?”

Thomas rolls his eyes but doesn't move away. He's been here long enough to learn that the best way to live through Newt's outbursts is to wait them out. “Okay, well, maybe I was, a bit. Slim it, Newt.”

“Well, it's not supposed to ever happen again, damn it,” Newt shrieks, almost desperately, and Thomas could have laughed out loud if it weren't for Newt slamming him back into the trunk of the nearest tree, successfully knocking the air out of his lungs for a while. “Not _ever_ again, Tommy, did ya get me?”

Newt's hands loosen their grip on Thomas' shirt and fall down; his breath ghosts softly over Thomas' jaw and it's the closest thing to the wind,  _the normalcy_ , that Thomas dreams of every night since months ago. It feels a little old, but surprisingly not completely out of place.

The familiarity and returning exhaustion that wash over Thomas have him deciding in a split second and he catches Newt's forearms before they flat fall along his sides.  


“Well,” tilting his head to the side, Thomas says quietly, eyes boring into Newt's (so enraged and so, _so_ familiar). “Would've been easier if you just admitted you care, ya know.”

“I do care,” Newt scowls but inches closer nevertheless. “Ya should've bloody realized earlier.”  


“I do now,” Thomas grins stupidly and cannot really help himself not to. He feels warm and tired and uncomfortable with the tree digging into his spine, but when Newt sums up contently “Good that”, Thomas resolves to add Newt kissing him to the list of those few nice things he lets himself have here.


End file.
